


Bun in the Oven

by TwilightDeviant



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mpreg, Not Malia, Post Mpreg, Set in Season 1, oc child - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28751190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwilightDeviant/pseuds/TwilightDeviant
Summary: Peter has a child. This is the first he’s hearing about it.—“Whose is she?”Derek cleared his throat and approached with arms crossed. “We always hoped,” he said, “you’d tell us.”
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale
Comments: 10
Kudos: 84





	1. Hello There

**Author's Note:**

> Recently binged Teen Wolf. Got this idea right after I finished S1 and wrote it out.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Hello there.”  
  
Peter smiled and waved at the timid little thing on the second floor of their old home, a memorial to fallen family. The house was silent as the grave but for the three of them: Peter, Derek, and her.  
  
She crouched behind burned out railing as if the spindles could hide her any better than bars in a cage. The girl was small and utterly dependent, little more than a baby. Peter had not seen children since the fire, and that was no way to remember one.  
  
She was adorable to look at, huddled up there. The hair on her head was dark and short, cut up around the shoulders as a cute style for her and low maintenance for her caretakers. Gray blue eyes caught a beam of moonlight, giving away their brilliant color. Skin was fair, as if she did not often see the sun. Her expression was hesitant.  
  
Peter smelled the fear in her, but more than that, he smelled the wolf. With all available clues, it was no difficult feat to assume she was family.  
  
“Whose is she?”  
  
Derek cleared his throat and approached with arms crossed. “We always hoped,” he said, “you’d tell us.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
To say the man was repressed was an understatement.  
  
He nursed his scotch at the bar, using it not as an instrument to get drunk, but as a distraction to avoid leaving. Peter snuck a glance at his left hand to check for a wedding band. It was there, yes, taking him to credible assumptions that the bar patron was avoiding home— avoiding his wife.  
  
“Spat with the misses?” Peter inquired, breaking ice and stealing the neighbor’s stool.  
  
“Huh?” The man looked at him, then his drink, then his ring. “Oh... no,” he said, shaking off the question. “No, I just...”  
  
When he gave no answer to the end of his sentence, Peter filled in the blank for his own purposes, a suggestion of motive, really. “Just don’t want to go home,” he supplied. It was leading and manipulative, but the man was attractive and Peter wanted to lead him places.  
  
“Things are good with my wife,” he insisted. He was cordial with the stranger but did not appreciate veiled insults to his family life.  
  
“Sure, of course,” Peter agreed as if he knew the couple. “Lots of things are good.” He leaned on the bar, crossing over his own territory and into the man’s. “The night outside is good. Music’s good. I don’t know about you, but my drink is good.” He took a swallow, unable to get drunk but always loving it as an icebreaker. “Nightly rates for the motel down the street,” he smirked, “very good.”  
  
The man released something between a growl and a sigh. “What do you want?”  
  
Peter leaned in close, wanting to whisper it for no reason but theatrics. “I want,” he stated in no uncertain terms, “to screw you.”  
  
One long drink drained the glass.  
  
Peter paid for the room, a gentleman and a confidant who told his reluctant partner how the wife would find no suspicious charges on bank statements.  
  
He did not mind paying next time either— or the one after.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
“We met a handful of times,” Peter told his nephew. The space of their once beautiful home held little more than bad memory, but he found an overturned chair not entirely dominated by the smell of old smoke and aging musk. He sat while Derek stood and paced. “It was fun and forbidden, and I liked the rush.”  
  
“You seduced a married man.” Derek did not approve.  
  
Peter saw the arrangement differently. “I gave a closeted man the chance to have what he really wanted for once.” He was the good guy.  
  
“And you don’t know who he is?”  
  
He shook his head. “We never exactly got familiar enough for last names.” Peter knew exactly with whom he slept. He knew his child’s father. He figured it out the second time they met in that seedy little motel room, when he considerately suggested the man take a shower to rinse the smell of sex. And while alone with all their clothes, he went through the stranger’s wallet. There was money, credit cards, a photo of a severe woman, one of a happy preteen girl, and there in the very front: his driver’s license.  
  
Christopher Argent.  
  
Argent.  
  
Peter almost clawed out his throat, leaving the man naked, wet, and bloody for housekeeping to discover. He spent the rest of a brief shower suppressing that urge, burying his predator instincts. Focus. The only thing to bring him back under was when he seduced himself with the notion of toying with the man instead.  
  
Have a little fun.  
  
So they met again. And again.  
  
He liked being naughty about it. If their little affair carried on longer than it did, Peter might have upped the stakes with sabotage. Call the man when he was at home. Give him gifts. Leave a visible bite. Torture the hunter for his own amusement.  
  
He would have.  
  
The fire happened first.  
  
Peter had difficulty believing what Derek told him.  
  
“But it really...” He knew the stories, but their familial lore was so often exaggerated or unsubstantiated, he gave some of it no mind nor caution. “I got pregnant from that?” He could hardly believe it.  
  
Derek nodded. “Yeah,” he sighed, and there followed an explanation he always expected to give but never thought he would. “Laura and I visited you in the hospital a lot,” he said. “In the beginning, we thought you’d wake up.” They waited and waited for a vegetable to speak. “After a few weeks, we smelled it on you.”  
  
A good many changes happened to a woman’s body when she became pregnant. Often, Peter knew one was expecting before she did, the scent was so apparent. Fascinating to learn the same principle applied to himself. He was almost upset he missed it.  
  
“Another week and we heard the heartbeat,” Derek continued. How they must have panicked. “Obviously, we couldn’t leave you there until the humans noticed.”  
  
“No, obviously,” Peter agreed, hilarious as that might have been.  
  
“We checked you out,” he said. “Told them we had a nurse at home.”  
  
Suddenly, Peter was very grateful to be oblivious while his niece and nephew tended to him for however many months. How humiliating that would have been.  
  
“And when it was time, you cut me open,” he assumed.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
He did not imagine either of them with the hands or artistry of a surgeon, but lucky for him, any butchering to his insides must have healed soon after.  
  
Against his command, Peter felt his hand leave the arm of the chair to touch his stomach, to rub at it. There was a child in there once.  
  
He missed everything and felt nothing.  
  
There were no stretch marks, no scar from surgery. He had no fond imaginings while his belly grew, no plans for when she was born. No bond formed when he held her the first time. Had he ever held her? Had they touched since she left him?  
  
How could he have a daughter but feel nothing?  
  
Peter always acknowledged it might happen to him, the little surprise after the fact. After all, he was nowhere near cautious as he should be. But in all hypotheticals, it was a woman announcing he got her pregnant. In that scenario, Peter expected to feel little.  
  
This?  
  
This was different. And for reasons he could not name nor understand, it upset him. The little girl was a part of him, and he felt nothing.  
  
“We put you back in hospice and left town,” his nephew told him. “Laura said it would be easier to have a child around if no one knew who we were.”  
  
Derek was such a good beta, doing whatever his alpha suggested. Peter was happy to have him in the pack.  
  
“She must be five by now.” The math was incredibly simple.  
  
“Yes,” Derek confirmed.  
  
“And her name?”  
  
Derek nodded, having waited for him to ask, surprised it took so long. “Selena,” he said, “Selena Hale.”  
  
“Selena...”  
  
Peter did not particularly care for it, but those were the rights his situation forfeited. It was at least a pretty name.  
  
“Laura named her,” Derek said. “She did everything. I’ve done more in the past several weeks than I have her whole life.”  
  
His daughter had two biological parents and one of love, one who raised her. Peter murdered that woman. Now, the only caretaker his child ever knew was gone.  
  
“How’s she been handling the news?” he asked. Death was sometimes difficult for children to process. He hoped his took it with grace and understanding.  
  
Derek answered without specifics going one way or the other. “As well as can be expected.”  
  
He was supposed to feel guilty. Derek wanted him to. If he did not kill Laura, however, his recovery would have taken months longer, possibly years. The sacrifice was unfortunate, but now he was here for his child. He could take care of her.  
  
His little Selena.  
  
“Can you... get her?” he requested. Ordinarily, Peter had no problems approaching others, but for a first impression with his daughter, he needed to be as unintimidating as possible.  
  
Derek nodded and exited the den for the foyer. Peter followed.  
  
“Selena!” he shouted, an inelegant summons.  
  
They waited for her to show, knowing she did not occupy herself while they spoke. She waited upstairs for them to finish. Perhaps she was mischievous and used her hearing to eavesdrop— if she were anything like her cunning father.  
  
The house was deathly silent and they heard the padding footsteps from above.  
  
“If I’m understanding correct,” Peter spoke, “you let our little girl play around in a derelict, abandoned house alone?” He was hardly maternal, but even he had to disapprove.  
  
“I’ve been busy,” Derek replied, “looking for the alpha.” Peter was to blame for any neglect his little chase caused. “She knows she’s not supposed to leave the room upstairs. It’s stable.” There were one or two areas in the house that still held strong, resisting fire damage and six years of rot.  
  
Ash left once white walls a pale gray. The light colors made it obvious when that dark head of hair poked its way around the corner. There she was.  
  
Peter smiled and gestured for her to keep coming, come to him.  
  
She descended each step at that child’s pace, one at a time, both feet on one level before moving on to the next. Slowly, Selena made her way down each one and came to them. She hovered nearer to Derek, caught in the orbit of a man she already knew. Peter admitted he could appear a bit imposing as a stranger. He tried to present as anything but.  
  
“Hello, sweetheart,” he greeted. “Do you know who I am?”  
  
She shook her head. Of course not. If Laura or Derek ever took her to visit him in the hospital, it was in a time when neither of them could form memories. He did hope, however, they might at least tell her about him. Peter had no idea how to do it himself. He might be alpha of the pack now, but it did not exactly make him a father.  
  
“Derek—” he snapped fingers at his nephew— “introduce us, please.”  
  
The boy rolled his eyes and huffed. “Selena.” He stepped halfway between the two parties and held out his hand, beckoning her forward. She tiptoed in pink sneakers and grabbed Derek’s big hand in her little baby one. He brought her to Peter, who knelt down at eye level.  
  
He smiled at her, making himself pleasant as could be for their introduction.  
  
Derek took a finger of their joined hands to point. “He’s our new alpha.”  
  
Peter frowned and cleared his throat. “The _other_ introduction.”  
  
“And... he’s your father,” Derek complied.  
  
She did not understand, but that was expected. Surprise paternity would startle an adult. Adolescent minds accepted facts much more easily, but they had to understand them first.  
  
“No, my father’s asleep,” Selena told them.  
  
Peter grinned. What a clever girl. “I woke up,” he said. “I finally woke up, and Derek’s been telling me all about you.” He barely knew her name. “Would you like to know me?”  
  
She considered his proposal and nodded at the end.  
  
“Wonderful.” He held out his hand, and Selena dropped Derek’s to take it. How small she was. How fragile and delicate, impressionable. A perfect member for his new pack. “You’re a werewolf, aren’t you Selena?” She nodded. “Excellent. Show me those cute fangs of yours.”  
  
“Peter,” Derek interrupted. Little ones often had difficulty keeping the wolf in check. Summoning chaos on purpose was not wise.  
  
“She can manage it,” Peter insisted. “Can’t you, sweetheart?”  
  
Selena nodded despite seeming unsure. His daughter was no weakling, no coward.  
  
She dropped his hand to steel hers at her side, concentrating. Peter smelled the change, the transformation from something part-wolf to something part-human.  
  
Eyes turned a glowing yellow, the shimmering iris of light reflected on golden treasure. She inherited that gift from him. Fangs grew in her open mouth, making her out to be some fearsome creature and not the growling little puppy he saw. A human might find her terrifying.  
  
Good.  
  
Humans were monsters.  
  
Breathing sped up as little lungs filled with panicked inhales and heart beat fast. Turning made her see too much, hear too much. It overwhelmed her.  
  
“Shh,” Peter whispered. “Shh, shh, shh. Look at me, Selena.” He gripped a narrow wrist in his hand and looked at the razor-like claws at fingers’ ends. The cuts would be so thin, their victim might see the blood before they felt the slash. Her fingers flexed, trying to scratch at him. “Selena, look at me.” Her eyes were wild, but his voice was soft, hypnotic. “Look at me, sweet girl.” She obeyed, staring into his face, trying to focus. He saw the moment it struck with her, the memory she was something more than feral. “There you go.” She calmed down. “Hold it,” he demanded. She needed to learn control even as the wolf. “Hold it.” She struggled with it as he counted down the seconds to a minute. Peter released her wrist. “Let go,” he allowed. “You can let go.”  
  
Selena exhaled and claws retracted, fangs retreated, eyes lost their golden wealth. There she was, his seemingly ordinary child.  
  
Peter petted her hair and ran his fingers through it. “You have your daddy’s eyes,” he flattered, “that steel blue, piercing like ice.” Those eyes had a way of making him feel seen, judged. He loved the shade and hated it as well. “Just like your daddy. His name is Chris, you know. Maybe we’ll get to pay him a visit.” How fun it would be to show up on the Argent front steps with their little bastard at his knee— lethal, yes, but fun.  
  
Selena shook her head. “No, my daddy’s name is Peter.”  
  
“Yes,” he agreed, “you are absolutely right. Look how smart you are.” He tickled under her chin and she laughed while pushing him away. “But you, smart girl, are so special you have two daddies. Did Laura or Derek ever tell you that?”  
  
She shook her head. Of course not. That was too difficult for anyone to understand. Even Peter did not pretend to own the knowledge. All he did was go along with its results.  
  
Peter twirled a strand of dark hair around his finger before tossing it over her shoulder. “This smoldering memorial doesn’t suit such a special girl,” he said. “You need to be staying in a fancy hotel, don’t you?” Selena nodded. Who could say no to that? “A nice hotel suite with all the channels on the television and a big tub for bubble baths, yes?” She beamed at him and nodded again. The Hale House was no place for a child, not anymore.  
  
Derek stepped in and gripped Peter on the shoulder with a squeeze. “I’ve been trying to keep a low profile,” he stated. “The Argents are in town and—”  
  
“You let me worry about the Argents,” Peter dismissed. “That’s my job, isn’t it, as alpha, to look after the two of you? And Scott eventually.”  
  
He would deal with the Argents.  
  
He would deal with Kate.  
  
Once she was gone, everything would be better, safer.


	2. Remember Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up RIGHT after Peter kills Kate in the S1 finale. Right there.

Kate was satisfying.  
  
She did not disappoint at all. Peter was grateful he botched the murder attempt with her in the car. It was better to watch her fight, to watch her lose. He broke her arm and mauled her throat after making her beg for her niece’s life.  
  
Peter did not believe the forced apology she gave, nor did his enmity towards that woman dissipate with one death. After all, she killed a dozen of his family. It was hardly equivalent.  
  
Neither the wolf in him nor the man believed it was enough. He wanted more before he considered Kate’s actions avenged. He wanted death to every Argent.  
  
Peter knew his eyes glowed red in the dark and ashy house. Kill Allison. Kill her, just like Kate.  
  
No.  
  
Not like Kate— like Laura, innocent little Laura.  
  
No.  
  
It was wrong, and even he knew that. But his claws wanted Argent blood. How many until they were satisfied? How guiltless must the pardoned be?  
  
Peter growled from frustration and self-imposed impotence.  
  
Skulking, snarling, panting, debating.  
  
No.  
  
Not Allison, no matter the path on which her aunt set her, making the girl shoot at his betas with arrows. Not tonight, Allison.  
  
He did not spare her for Kate, not even for Scott and his puppy love. Perhaps it was for the unconscious man outside. Perhaps it was because a certain little girl deserved at least the chance at a big sister.  
  
Leave Allison.  
  
For now.  
  
“Scott,” he greeted without looking, knowing the boy was there through scent and sound, “limited time offer: take little Allison and go.” They did not understand and that was expected, but Peter had adult business to address.  
  
Scott did not trust the mercy, but he moved closer to Allison regardless, as though to run or protect— as if he could be any match for his alpha.  
  
“My dad,” Allison whispered, asking Scott that they take the vulnerably abandoned man and run. Take the retreat while they had it, fight another day.  
  
“Oh,” Peter laughed, “no, that’s mine.”  
  
He was out the door before they could challenge him or even question it.  
  
Peter needed to have a conversation, and it required some privacy. He escaped a nosy little audience of betas and teenagers. He took the only person whose ear he wanted.  
  
After all, the man came right to him. It would be a shame to neglect opportunity.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Chris was hardly any weight to him, but the added burden did make it difficult to outrun Derek, to lose him. It took perhaps half-an-hour until Peter found a clearing to satisfy himself— secured on one full side by rock but allowing ample escape routes in the other directions, should they become required.  
  
Why did it have to be so difficult to have one conversation?  
  
Peter groaned and dropped the hunter on a mound of leaves and pine straw, just thick enough to break his fall. He hoped being jostled like that would rattle something loose, and after a moment, it did.  
  
There were no outward signs of change. A trained killer knew better than to give away his advantage, his perceived vulnerability. It was best to observe his surroundings first. Peter listened to a conscious heartbeat. He heard deeper inhales scent the air. He imagined ears strained themselves to listen, not that it did him any good or gave any insight.  
  
“Ready when you are,” Peter hummed, a choice of words he regretted after. Yes, that could be taken as an invitation to fight.  
  
Chris opened those gray eyes and blinked them into focus. Peter gave him a cheery wave and a wolfish grin.  
  
“Remember me?”  
  
The bang and its bullet gave better answer than any verbal reply. He remembered.  
  
Peter hissed at the searing fire and gun smoke which drilled through him. “That hurts, Chris.” The skin of his arm healed over. “And now it only hurts my feelings.”  
  
The man had to be a better shot than that, but neither addressed why he missed. Peter was too quick for him to try again, and the hunter’s strong wrist was in his hand before a bullet found his skull. He pulled Chris to his feet and did not break the arm as he had with Kate, but he squeezed until holding the weapon was unappealing. Peter snatched it from a loose grip. He bent the barrel and threw it to the woods.  
  
“Ah!” The knife in his side stung.  
  
Peter grabbed the offending arm and twisted until it was behind Chris’s back. He snatched the other when it tried to strike and punch. Humans were so weak, and Peter liked to feel them struggle.  
  
Chris could not move in any meaningful way. He panted, out of breath when Peter could do this all night.  
  
Bereft of actions and having only words, the hunter asked, “Allison?”  
  
“Alive,” Peter told him. He could be merciful in sharing the fact. It would make their conversation easier. “I don’t plan on killing you either, by the way.”  
  
Chris relaxed in his grip, only a small amount, one not even he might notice. Peter did. He wanted to pet the short hair on that weary head, a reward for good behavior. The sentiment was short-lived.  
  
Inquiring was ill-advised and the man did it anyway. “Kate?”  
  
“Oh,” Peter chuckled, “no, she’s dead.” He killed Chris’s sister as the finale of his vendetta. “How does the Argent family motto go?” he pondered. “‘ _Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent_ ’?” Kate hunted Peter and his family, so he hunted her. Shame it had to make the relationship with her brother so messy in the fallout.  
  
“Grr!” screamed his captive, an only child. That made two of them.  
  
Peter dragged the thrashing body closer, feeling the heat of him, hearing the pound of adrenaline. Chris wanted to kill because it was impulse, instinct, not because he believed Kate’s death was undeserved. Peter let the mortal man tire himself in an iron grip. They both felt when he reached a threshold, when any more fighting would drain the battery and leave him useless to future opportunities. He surrendered into waiting arms.  
  
“Hello there,” Peter whispered at his spine. Knives on fingertips traced his neck, a warning and a threat to stay still. “Does this bring back memories?” He pressed himself against the man, letting bodies reminisce.  
  
“Go to Hell,” Chris cursed.  
  
Peter growled. “I’ve been there,” he said, “for six... long years.”  
  
“I had nothing to do with that.” His throat rocked against Peter’s claws when he spoke, emphasizing the fragility of human life. One stroke and it would end. Dead and gone. The man in his grasp, however, was honorable. He upheld his family code as something more than weak guidelines. He meant what he said.  
  
“I know,” Peter replied. “And I... enjoyed your little speech condemning Kate for her part.” Chris even threatened to kill her himself if she harmed innocent, well-intentioned Scott. The hunter defended a werewolf. “I wish all little Argents were good as you,” Peter lamented. “Then I wouldn’t have to do what you make me.”  
  
“If you hurt my daughter...”  
  
Peter smiled to be given the perfect setup. Everything he could hope for, Chris let him have it. Chris let him say, “Which one?”  
  
The man did not understand, of course, and part of him almost refused to take the bait. Almost. He was curious by nature, and the trait was horribly endearing.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I know,” Peter grinned. “I just found out myself and it was quite a shock, honestly.” He nuzzled into Chris’s neck, smelling half-a-dozen different emotions, every one sublime. After all his own adjustments over the past week, he liked being the one with greater information, liked being the one who got to say, “We have a baby, darling.” Chris tensed in his arms, and Peter reveled at the sound of his heart, the frantic thumping of confusion. “Well, not a baby anymore, not technically,” Peter corrected, “but I only met her a few days ago. Give me time to get to know her better.” He sighed. “They grow up so damn fast.”  
  
“You’re lying,” Chris accused, the play of the desperate. He did not want to believe. He wanted to be obvious and predictable and deny everything spoken.  
  
Peter dropped hold of his throat and twisted his arm forward until they faced one another. The human could not hear a heartbeat, but anyone of his mental caliber knew how to spot a lie by tells.  
  
“She has those gorgeous eyes of yours,” Peter told him, the truth. He made his own flash, red now where once they were gold. “Mine too.”  
  
“Stop it.” If Peter told a joke, Chris did not find it funny. He tried to free himself from a grip that would not break. “Stop.”  
  
“Our daughter’s a werewolf, Christopher.” Peter delighted in breaking the news. An Argent helped create something he was sworn to hunt.  
  
Delicious.  
  
“Stop.”  
  
So many emotions, and fear above them all. Chris feared Peter was telling the truth. How unfortunate that he was.  
  
“Our daughter the werewolf,” Peter carried on for the sake of cruelty.  
  
Chris shut his eyes and shook his head. If he had use of both his hands, he certainly would have covered his ears to block out lies or truths or his punishment for nothing. He did nothing wrong, but that was meaningless now. Inaction was a sin, especially moving forward.  
  
“I know your family,” Peter hissed, “your father. This feud _should_ end with Kate’s death, but Gerard will want payback, endless bloodshed on and on.” They started it. Peter ended it. If only the simple act of living were so easy. “Just remember,” he told Chris, “when the Argents decide to slaughter my pack again, you’ve... got... skin in the game.”  
  
He threw Chris on the ground and heard brittle leaves break under his weight.  
  
They were done.  
  
Peter enjoyed tormenting the man with memories and consequences of their affair, but he told the truth for one reason above all: no one was going to harm his daughter. He planted a traitor in the Argents, one who would fight his own family to protect an innocent little girl. Chris was a good man. It was frustrating, yes, but because of it, Peter trusted him— him and no one else.  
  
Chris did not trust in return. That was more than fair.  
  
“Prove it!” he shouted at Peter’s retreating back.  
  
That made him pause and turn. “Come again?” he prompted, wondering if he heard the demand and all its implications correct.  
  
Chris crawled to his hands and knees, then on his feet. He knew he was no physical match for Peter, but as he stomped towards him anyway, he proved to be no coward either.  
  
“Prove it,” he said. “Prove that we have a- a...” He had difficulty speaking the shame.  
  
Peter tilted his head and regarded the hunter with a roving eye, taking in every part of him, the body and mind of a human who somehow got under his skin like no other, an extraordinarily unique frustration.  
  
“You know it’s possible,” he said, “after what we did.” Between their families, it was difficult to guess the one more learned in werewolf biology, but if Peter knew, Chris knew.  
  
“That’s not what I asked.”  
  
“Oh.” Peter understood. “You want to meet her.” He grinned. “That’s sweet. You’re so sentimental, Christopher.” The cheek he tried to touch moved away from his hand. Just because Peter felt fond in the moment did not mean it was contagious.  
  
“I want to meet her,” Chris stated, “to prove she exists.”  
  
With no pregnancy scars or marks or pictures in a wallet, there was only one proof available and he wanted it. There was no trust without.  
  
“I’d be offended if I weren’t proud,” Peter said. “You’re right to doubt me, of course. I had trouble believing it myself when Derek told me.”  
  
“When Derek...” He did not understand how nephew could know before father.  
  
“You know the timing,” Peter said, “what we did and how closely it preceded the fire.” Chris’s eyes dropped out of disgrace for his sister and that was good. Peter had no interest in killing noble creatures like him. “I was burned... alive and left to die before I ever knew I was with child.” Knowing made no difference. Kate Argent murdered children. If Peter cried to her for mercy, he would have found none. “I’ve spent most of my time since then in a coma,” he said, “no idea what was going on around me those first years. I didn’t... know... I had a— we... had a child until Derek told me just a few days ago.”  
  
Chris swallowed. His expression wanted to pity such an unacknowledged birth, but his guard was up too high to toss around compassion. Their daughter spent the first five years of her life with neither parent knowing she existed.  
  
“Whole new meaning to ‘bun in the oven,’ don’t you think?” Peter smirked. He was always good at breaking tension with humor, but even he knew the effort was a little forced.  
  
“Where is she?” Chris asked again, his word choice betraying that he was beginning to believe it, no proof required, only indulgence.  
  
“You want to meet her.” Peter needed him to admit it.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
The man loved his other daughter dearly. It was obvious and precious. Peter would not mind capturing a fraction of that love for the child they shared, another layer of protection.  
  
“Unfortunately, that’s where it becomes tricky,” he said. “She’s the first place I’ll go and... Derek knows that.” Chris shrugged, not understanding the problem. They were family, pack. “Oh, he wants to kill me again. I believe he may have figured out I had more control in killing his sister than I let on.”  
  
“You’re despicable,” Chris scoffed, remembering to be disgusted by Peter’s animalistic savagery.  
  
“I’m an alpha,” he stated. “Meaning there’s no one more qualified to protect our little angel.” Peter was the strongest creature in Beacon Hills, and that benefited no one greater than his pack.  
  
“I’m a hunter,” Chris countered. There was responsibility in the role. He was obligated to kill rogue wolves.  
  
“I know,” Peter said. It certainly made their child’s heritage complicated to say the least. “I’ve actually known since the second time we met.” He grinned. “Stole a peak at your ID, Mister... Argent.”  
  
The man looked at the ground and nodded. That was sloppy of him and he knew it. “Yeah.” When he glanced at Peter again, his eyes were mischievous, his smile cocky. “I knew who you were the minute you fell on that stool at the bar.” Peter could not hide his shock and it gave the other some welcome amusement. “I do my research, Mister Hale.”  
  
“You knew the whole time?” Peter was scandalized and impressed. “You... bastard.” It gave the strait-laced hunter an extra layer of intrigue. It made his motives indecipherable. “Why then?” He did not understand why an Argent would knowingly sleep with a Hale— repeatedly.  
  
Chris did not want to answer. What superiority he felt over knowing at the onset disappeared when asked why he carried through anyway.  
  
He was never going to answer.  
  
Peter gave him softer questions, leading inquiries for single syllable replies. “You still needed it, didn’t you?” he asked. “Loving a wife you’re not attracted to must get... tiring.” Peter took the slightest step forward, unnoticeable. “Anyone would have made the cut. You poor thing.” He did pity such an anchor. It was one of the reasons he never chained himself to one. It was better to be available to every opportunity. “My only real question,” Peter whispered, drawing in the man’s attention, making him lean ever so slightly to hear, “is how I was the first man to want a piece of you.” Peter touched his side, and it made Chris flinch, even with layers of clothing between them. “Shh,” Peter calmed, winning the man under a spell of intimacy, exploiting an attraction still there against every odd and in spite of every evidence. “It’s all right.” Chris wanted to believe him, the wolf with his sister’s dried blood on his hands. “It’s all right, Christopher.” The hand on his side moved to his back. It pulled him close, closer until their bodies were pressed together and the strength of a werewolf would not let him go if he wanted. Chris made no moves to fight it. He breathed anxious breaths against Peter’s cheek, and when a second hand wrapped around the back of his head, he let it force him into a kiss.  
  
What a thrill!  
  
Two men under obligations to be fighting at that very moment— attacking, slaughtering his born enemy— and there they were, making out in the woods like two teenagers in need of a backseat. It felt good. Peter enjoyed not only the forbiddance of his actions but also the very ordinary sensation of physical affection.  
  
So long.  
  
He turned his head and moved his lips in every desirable way, damning a good man with wicked temptation. Chris wanted him, even now, and the stroke of it on an already inflated arrogance was sublime. Burns and trances tried to take that from him and they failed. He was attractive, seductive, and even a man duty-bound to fill him with bullets could not resist running hands beneath his jacket and in his hair. Christopher Argent wanted to touch him against the moral code of an unbelievably moral man. Peter was that good.  
  
Every time Chris remembered himself, remembered who Peter was and what act he just committed, he tried to pull away, to push at Peter’s breast for leverage. Inhuman strength kept him there. Undeniable passion relit the flame. Chris gave in to Peter every time. He needed it, the poor thing.  
  
They kissed. They caught their breath by panting it against the other’s cheek, and then they kissed again. Peter wanted nothing more than to take it further, but despite being a beast, he was not an animal. The venue left a good deal wanting for certain activities. That did not stop him from toying with the middle ground. He touched the man everywhere except there. He stimulated skin through clothing. He kissed his way across a long jaw and nibbled at the tender neck. That was the straw to break the hunter’s back. Chris spoke with his throat in Peter’s mouth. It rumbled on the tongue.  
  
“Do not bite me... alpha bastard.”  
  
“So vanilla.”  
  
Chris would make a lovely addition to the growing pack, but Peter knew his family’s lifelong conditioning would not allow the change. He would kill himself before becoming a werewolf. It was a true pity, but Peter honored his wishes. His teeth retreated. His mouth closed. His cheek rested on the man’s strong shoulder.  
  
Kissing the hunter in the middle of the woods was nice while it lasted. Chris moved his hands around Peter’s back and managed to keep the moment from flickering into smoke.  
  
Quaint.  
  
It was actually nice to be there in his arms, held by someone for the first time in years. Peter missed physical connections. He missed everything about the human experience. He missed it all in every sense. He missed out on his own daughter’s life. Peter was a tragedy waiting for someone else to cry about it.  
  
The hand rubbing his back was comforting, as if Chris knew how much he needed it.  
  
Peter was tired, so very tired.  
  
But it was done. Kate and all of her accomplices were dead. His family was avenged. He was avenged.  
  
Peter wanted to sleep for a week and yet never again. Too much happened when he slept. He could no longer trust a town without his eye on it. That was not to say he had great plans for the waking world, however, not yet. Though he did have a pack to rebuild, a daughter to raise, a teenager to convince, a nephew to avoid. Peter could defeat Derek, of course, especially after whatever Kate did to him, but he preferred it not come to blows again. He smiled.  
  
“Maybe,” Peter whispered to Chris’s neck, “maybe if I disappear for a month and tell Derek I’m pregnant again... maybe he won’t kill me.” He smirked. “How ‘bout it, Argent? Wanna save my life?”  
  
It was not the strength so much as the surprise of the shove that sent Peter falling on his ass.  
  
He could not help but laugh at the human and his little jokes, his moral reactions. Peter liked him more than he wanted to feel for any man, for any Argent. How could he care for a person whom he wanted to kill? What was this fascination of something so ordinary as dignity and why did it sway him?  
  
“Will you at least help me with the other thing?” Peter huffed.  
  
Chris did not volunteer help to a murderous alpha without all the details. “With thing?”  
  
Peter stood and brushed the dirt and leaves from his pants. “Getting our daughter from Derek, obviously.”  
  
“The daughter we may or may not have.” He wanted to be a skeptic because the lie kept his life relatively simple. If Peter told him the truth, a great many things became ruined.  
  
“That’s the one,” Peter replied. “Laura named her Selena, by the way, Selena Hale.”  
  
“Selena,” Chris murmured, committing the name to his mind, perhaps even his heart. Names had a funny way of shaping concepts, of dragging them into reality. Chris considered the tale of their child, the story of a little girl told by a man he did not trust. “It’s true, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yes,” Peter said, frustrated but understanding of why they had to talk in circles about it. “And you can meet her _if_... you help keep my nephew from killing me.”  
  
“You know that’s not how custody agreements usually go, right?” Chris enjoyed pointing out how ridiculous and abnormal the entire situation was, as if Peter could ever be conventional.  
  
“Oh, and if you have a lawyer that can help me _get_ legal custody,” Peter requested, “that’d be appreciated.” A great many aspects of his life currently fell in a gray area of legality. Selena needed a parent who could provide the amenities of citizenry and the monetary advantages of the Hales.  
  
“As if you should have custody of a five-year-old,” Chris scoffed. Everyone knew it was ludicrous— possibly child endangerment. The wolf was not something so selfless as a father.  
  
“I... fed her,” Peter defended with a shrug. “Made her brush her teeth, put her to bed.” He knew all the right things to do, even if they bored him.  
  
“School enrollment?” Chris retorted. “Healthy meals? Something other than cartoons to keep her occupied?”  
  
“Okay, so I’m not perfect yet,” he said. “Give me a break. I’ve been at it a week.” He deserved a little slack and understanding. It was a busy week for him. Peter left her with a pizza and the television going, but he could do better once he had the time to be nothing but alpha.  
  
“I can help,” Chris said, but he spoke it in such a way that asserted more than mere advice. “I do know a thing or two.” He tried to smile about his good deed, his generosity, his new duty.  
  
“Oh.” Peter understood perfectly, yes. The man could step right in. “She’s better with you... there.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I’m not exactly—” Peter laughed— “parent material.” He lured Chris into a trap, a trap of telling the truth, what he was really thinking behind that inscrutable face. “I should let you... take over.” He laid his hands on the open front of a rough, practical jacket, letting it slip through his fingers. It was not intimidating because neither man could be intimidated, especially by the other. “I should let you take... her.”  
  
To his credit, Chris did not lie— very admirable. With a straight face and an even heartbeat, he said, “Yes.”  
  
Peter’s hands pressed flat on his chest, enough to push but not shove. His smile was unkind. “You’re right,” he said. “It’d be so much better if I handed our little... wolf cub to a den of wolf killers.”  
  
“I’ve raised one daughter already.” Chris knew what to do, no denying. Allison was a delight— except for all the brainwashing by her aunt. “I can... explain the affair to Victoria.” He spoke as if she would not be surprised or upset. The woman knew what she was and what she was not. “I can give... Selena a good life, Peter.”  
  
“Life,” he chuckled. “Life?” he scoffed. “She... is a _werewolf!_ ” Peter screamed, loud enough to summon Derek, wheresoever he skulked in the woods. He spoke more quietly though with a firm belief his echo would disorient location— no worries. “A werewolf.”  
  
“She’s a girl,” Chris argued, “a little girl.” He paraded the tender age as if childhood could come ahead of nature, biology.  
  
“Yes,” Peter agreed, “and the Argents would have burned that little girl right out of me.” If he believed in miracles, he would consider it one that they failed.  
  
“Peter.”  
  
“You see a girl and they see a wolf,” he sneered.  
  
“Peter.”  
  
“Gerard won’t even care it’s his granddaughter,” he growled. “Just like Kate wouldn’t have cared it was her niece.” That woman would have killed a little girl and called her a monster to justify it. “You’ll all just _wait_ for her to mess up, is that right?!”  
  
“Peter!”  
  
“What?!”  
  
“Control,” Chris ordered. His posture was stiff, guarded. He was fully prepared to drop and grab the gun on his ankle.  
  
It was then and only then Peter realized the red of his eye and of his ire was on full display. “I have control,” he insisted. The power of the alpha was a tremendous burden to keep in check. He would confide that to no one, especially not a hunter, not the father of his child. Peter panted deep breaths to calm himself. “I control it.”  
  
“And what controls you?” Chris cautiously questioned. “Death? A trail of bodies?”  
  
“Before tonight?” Peter replied. “I would have said vendetta, but my list is done.” It was finished, at last. “Tomorrow and every day after,” he announced, “I want to be controlled by... hm, love, purpose. I plan on doing what’s best for my pack: Derek, Scott, Selena.”  
  
“Not Scott,” he said, bartering for a teenager’s innocence.  
  
“But Derek’s fine?” Derek was too kindhearted for his own good. The fire made him emotional, yes, but not angry. Family mattered to him in precious ways. That was how Peter knew his nephew would forgive him in time. He simply needed to avoid him until then.  
  
“Derek’s an adult and can do what he wants.” Chris’s code forced him to suffer that autonomy until such a time it turned deadly to humans— innocent humans.  
  
“And Selena?” Peter was curious.  
  
Chris exhaled. It troubled him greatly; he wore the naked emotion plain on his face. “Unfortunately, you seem to be the one who makes her decisions.” He hated it but both could see how their situation did not leave reasonable alternatives. “You’re right,” he loathed to admit. “She can’t come home with me, not yet.” The Argent house was not safe for a werewolf. Whether he decided to change that would remain to be seen.  
  
If only Peter could raise the wolf and Chris could raise the child. He did not allow the slithering notion that they raise her together. The idea was too nonsensical and shot down on sight. The man already had his family unit at home— with a wolf-hunting wife, if Peter had to guess. The Argents hated the Hales and vice versa. He and Chris hated each other.  
  
There was no happy beginning for their child. Selena would be raised by one and only one. It was better to choose the parent who could teach her to control her instincts. So what if she did not have the perfect childhood as a result? She would be alive.  
  
Peter sighed and took a step in retreat. He hated emotions and heavy discussions. “You should... probably go back before everyone thinks I killed you.” They were in a forest where everything looked the same, but he trusted the hunter’s skill to find his way out.  
  
“Maybe they’ll think I killed you.” Chris liked bringing him down a peg. It made Peter grin.  
  
“Now I look like a failure if you get back first,” he said.  
  
“Should I exaggerate the scuffle for your ego?”  
  
“Dear, I’m fine exaggerating it any time you’re free.” His lewd smirk left no ambiguity in the offer. “I do know a shabby little motel off the beaten path.” In truth, now that he lived away from Hale House, he would be free to invite Chris to his place once he had one, though it might be dangerous to give away his location for a while. “Or feel free to finally divorce that wife of yours and we’ll meet up at your house. Allison can stay just as soon as she apologizes for shooting my nephew.”  
  
Chris rolled his eyes. None of that would transpire, but Peter enjoyed tempting him in jest.  
  
“And what’s the immediate plan?” the hunter demanded.  
  
“For?”  
  
Chris swallowed in his throat, a silent gulp. He took a deep breath, buying time and finding nerve. It was difficult for him to say, “For getting our daughter.”  
  
Our daughter.  
  
Peter fought the urge to grin. “So you will help me?”  
  
“I will help keep a child from being used as a pawn in war games,” he said. “Meaning you and Derek settle your grievances before anyone walks away with her.” He agreed to let Peter raise Selena but only if her safety were assured.  
  
“Yeah, I suppose that’s fair.”  
  
“Derek gets to hit you.”  
  
“Less fair.” Peter owed his nephew some manner of recompense for murdering his sister, but he did not entirely trust Derek to refrain from ripping out his throat.  
  
“I’ll probably wanna hit you too.” Chris already shot and stabbed him; however, Peter was a bastard and people wanted to hurt him for it. Fortunately, the healing strengths of an alpha were supreme. Peter would let them have satisfaction to the brink of his death if it made them happy. Anything to get past the unpleasantness of it all.  
  
“I assume you drove here,” he said. Chris chose one direction to glance, as if he knew it was the path to the house. Peter drew him back with a firm but unsharpened finger on the cheek. “Don’t worry about Allison. Scott will get her home,” he assured.  
  
Peter asked him to abandon one daughter in the woods and go with him to see the other. Chris was hesitant but he agreed. He did not entirely trust the self-control of a fledgling werewolf, but he knew Scott was a good kid. He genuinely was, regrettably.  
  
“More weapons in the trunk?” Peter inquired. The gun he broke was useless to the man. “Nothing lethal.” He did not want to kill Derek, not that Chris would. “Come on,” Peter extended a hand that was not held, “I’ll take you to Selena— if Derek isn’t hiding her already.” The boy was smart. It would be his next play after giving up the hunt for Peter. “I believe... you’ll make a good human shield.” Derek was not the murdering type, not unless it was his murdering uncle. Regardless, Peter was confident they would have Selena by morning, afternoon at the latest. Perhaps he would manage to give Derek a timeout as well. Chris would be most beneficial for that. “And then you get to meet her.” He tilted his head to the side and smiled. Peter delighted in manipulating others with what they wanted. It was a mistake for the hunter to let on he was interested. It was good to have an Argent in his corner. All Peter had to do was raise a child, and he was doing that anyway.  
  
Using his nose, Peter guessed the side road where the hunter parked his car and began the walk to it.  
  
“Peter,” Chris called before the wolf could travel far.  
  
“What?” Peter expected a change in plans or demands of Chris’s own. What he received was something much more endearing.  
  
“What does she look like?” Chris wanted a picture to help fuel his cooperation. Make her real for him.  
  
“Oh.” He never did say.  
  
Peter considered his description. He mentioned already the eyes she inherited. In service of the verbal to the physical, he could go on about the dark color of her hair and its style. He could hold a hand to his abdomen and indicate height. He could compare her fair skin to moonlight. He could wax poetic about the beauty of her innocence, a concept long ago burned out of her parents.  
  
What he said about Selena and her appearance was austere and yet the perfect illustration.  
  
“Us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end.
> 
> Then idk. Teen Wolf AU where Derek doesn’t kill him and Peter remains an alpha. He’d probably be really bad and murdery about it if Chris Argent weren’t staying in town to keep him in line. Peter’s not allowed to turn anyone without their permission, and any betas have to stay on the straight and narrow.
> 
> Chris makes the decision to not tell Victoria about Selena yet. The Argent/Hale atmosphere is not good after Kate. He wants to tell Allison about her little sister but holds off, knowing it won’t go well after she watched Peter slaughter her aunt. (Something he finds out later and is FURIOUS about with Peter.) I’m not sure how Victoria is turned since Derek wouldn’t be alpha, but details aren’t the point. What matters is Chris ends up in a mindset of, “Wow, my family really, unapologetically hates werewolves to the death. But I know Scott and these others aren’t bad. Also my youngest daughter is a werewolf.” Big turning point for him.
> 
> Eventually they find out about Malia, and Peter growls his frustration that just once he’d like to know about a kid BEFORE they’re out of diapers. Obviously, somewhere in all of the chaos he starts a parents-with-benefits relationship with Chris. Gets pregnant. “On accident.” (The man is trying to rebuild the Hale pack so I’ll let you decide if an “accident” is an accident.) They get a boy after three girls.
> 
> Blah, blah, blah, so on...
> 
> I’m not writing out any of that, btw. I never finish long fics, so I’d rather leave this one where it is than expand and abandon. I know this needs at least one more chapter for a full family reunion but listen. I’m lazy. (Maybe one day.)
> 
> So let me know what you thought, pretty please. ♥


End file.
